


Of 4th of July's and lost memories

by 000Diana000



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Mentions of Violence, and brainwashing, mentions of torture and death, set during CA:TWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/000Diana000/pseuds/000Diana000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time he cared to ask about the date was somewhere around 1951. 4th of July to be exact. He recalled that moment because he had found himself thinking that he was forgetting something. This was, to some extent ironical as he had forgotten his own existence. Yet, the date had haunted him for months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of 4th of July's and lost memories

**Author's Note:**

> This consists, more or less of Bucky's inner turmoil during the movie Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Can be read together with my other Steve/Bucky fic, called "If you ever come back". You could read that too if you'd like, but it's not necessary.

The mission seemed harder than the usual ones he was used to. His opponent was stronger, faster, nothing like he had ever met before. Killing the man in blue, white and red skintight costume wasn’t the initial purpose of the mission. He killed the one eyed man and fulfilled his initial purpose. It was never that simple, but he would have to listen and do as told like he had done for decades. It wasn’t until the blond man looked him in the eye that the Winter Soldier felt like something was radically different about this mission.  
“Bucky” he’d said as if the words were supposed to mean something to the human weapon. 

Despite his better judgment, the soldier found himself asking the man in front of him. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

The betrayed and hurt look that he got in return screwed him up in ways he didn’t know something could. He left in a rush. 

When he asked his superiors about it, they did what they always do. They “erased” him. 

It was an endless cycle of starting to become self aware to some extent and being wiped off and starting anew. He didn’t remember the first time he realized he had no idea who he was. As time passed his dehumanization became more accentuated until he had no more thoughts of his own. 

The last time he cared to ask about the date was somewhere around 1951. 4th of July to be exact. He recalled that moment because he had found himself thinking that he was forgetting something. This was, to some extent, ironical as he had forgotten his own existence. Yet, the date had haunted him for months. He was aware that his memories were being messed with, but when they did erase his memory it was usually only a couple of day’s worth, enough to forget completing a mission, or starting to wonder about things which are best left alone. 

He later found out, from a paper that one of his victims had been reading before being taken out, that the 4th of July was the United States’ national day. That was the last time he wondered about it, since it had turned out to be such a meaningless event.

Captain America, the soldier overheard his bosses call the man he was supposed to take out. Such a strange name for a strange man.

He would be dead in a few days if it all went according to plan.

“You’re my friend”

Friendship was such a strange and foreign notion. 

“You’re my mission”

Without meaning to, or maybe he did mean it, the man started to occupy his thoughts more than he’d cared to admit even to his impersonal mind. He wanted to end him once and for all. He wanted the man to stop haunting his dreams. He much rather preferred nightmares from murders he had no memory of committing than the blue eyed man looking at him like he was both a ghost and a treasure meant to be kept safe. 

The man before him was a puzzle. He kept pushing and pushing as if he didn’t fear death. As if he was already dead. 

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes”

No. No, it wasn’t. He didn’t have a name. You don’t name nightmares. You don’t name ghosts. You don’t name death. The Winter Soldier wasn’t somebody, he wasn’t anybody, he simply was.

There was a red haired woman with Captain America. She seemed professional. She knew her way with a gun, he’d had to admit. She’d have to be eliminated too; alongside with the man who could fly and the other woman with black hair. They were on Captain America’s team. They were in his way.

He had free hand with a bunch of people who were not completely incompetent, so they would do. He ordered them to take out the Captain’s team. Captain America was his own personal mission. He’d take care of him himself.

“You know me”

“No, I don’t” He didn’t know him, he didn’t know himself, he didn’t know anything. That was the whole point. 

“I’m not gonna fight you”

Good. That made things easier, yet not as satisfying. 

“I’m with you, till the end of the line”

Scenes flashed before his eyes. He didn’t dare to call them memories as those are easily erased. What he had seen felt sacred and ancient. He heard laughter and saw smiles. He felt the need to protect a short scrawny kid who got himself in trouble way too often. He remembered touches and hugs, playful shoves and banter.  
It was all so wrong on so many levels.

He wanted to scream at the man to stop doing irrational things. There was no way they knew each other. There was no way they were friends. The Winter Soldier had no friends. It wasn’t that hard to comprehend. 

Yet the Winter Soldier found himself dragging Captain America’s body out of the water. It would’ve been so easy to let him drown. He wasn’t stupid. He knew his bosses lost the battle, so him not completing the mission wouldn’t have been the most important thing to worry about. 

He left the man who refused to fight him and who probably suffered from some kind of memory sickness next to the water. But if he stayed behind, hidden in the shadows, to make sure the blond man would be found by someone, nobody could blame him.

The first thing he did, after cutting off his hair and changed his clothes to blend in was search the internet for people named James Buchanan Barnes. He had expected the face to somewhat resemble his own, but not only was the resemblance uncanny, this Barnes seemed to have died in WWII. He didn’t even have time to wonder how Captain America, who looked to be 30 years old at most, even knew Barnes that the page already loaded and the first sentence he read was:”James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes, war hero and Captain America’s best friend since childhood died during one of the Howling Commandos’ missions led by no other than Captain America himself, not long before Captain America was supposed dead after crashing a plane in the ice to prevent innocent deaths from occurring.”

When he saw himself displayed as a hero at the museum and kids and adults looking up to him, that’s when something broke inside. Either he was lost forever or he had just broken free. Only time could tell.

He decided that the man wasn’t lying. Steve Rogers was his name. Steve Rogers, the brave hero who decided to be an experiment for his own country. It had been his choice. The Winter Soldier had never had the power to choose anything. How did that feel?

Like falling or like flying?

He supposed it felt like almost drowning to save somebody you shouldn’t have. 

He was exhausted despite the enhancements. He had nowhere to go. He had no purpose. He began to wander around the city for a couple of hours, marveling at how nobody looked at him twice. It was unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. 

That is until a hand touched his shoulder and he spun around to pin his attacker to the wall of a building. He didn’t get the chance to do so as he was being dragged behind the corner of the building and all he could see was red hair. 

He tried to punch the red haired woman with his metal arm only for her to move graciously and quickly in the last moment. His fist collided with the wall and he felt the vibrations up to his teeth. 

“I’m not here to fight you” she said.

“Then why is your weapon aimed at me?” he asked looking at her with the same blank expression he used when his superiors used to threaten to put him down.  
She dropped her gun and pushed it towards him with her foot. He wasn’t a fool. She was the Black Widow, as he’d later found out, she was as far away from trusting and trustworthy as somebody could be.

“Why are you here?” he asked her.

“I’m here for a friend.”

If she was trying to insinuate that he was the friend she was there for, he’d most likely try to kill her. He’d had enough people declaring their friendship to him that day to be enough for his all long life.

“You’re here for Rogers. Why?” he squinted his eyes at her. Her posture change slightly, something similar to concern seemed to flash in her eyes, but Bucky couldn’t be sure. He’d also have to question when did he start calling himself by that name.

“He needs you.”

“He needs Bucky” he pointed out, leaving the ‘I’m not that Bucky’ unsaid. She would probably understand.

“You are the one he needs. Even if you don’t want to accept it yet.” She seemed so sure of herself he had to ask.

“How do you know?”

“You didn’t leave him to die” the Widow answered the same way some people would talk about the weather. “Look” she sighed. “I’ve been in your place. I’ve been controlled and had my free will ripped from my grasp. I’ve killed and burned and tortured, you can’t even imagine.” She stopped as if she just remembered something. “Well, maybe you can. I am probably the only person who can understand you and now I want to help you. Take it or leave it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive yet so human way and looked at her warily as if waiting for her to jump at his throat any minute now. “I don’t need your help”  
“My job here is done, then” she shrugged. “I’m not the one for big speeches about everyone needing somebody to lean on and all that. That’s more Steve’s thing, but you probably knew that.”

He had known that, probably, about 70 years ago. He had probably known everything there was to know about Steve Rogers.

The woman was already a few feet away when he asked her. “Wait, I need to know something.”

She didn’t even turn around, but she stopped, so he knew she was listening. “When is Steve’s birthday?”

“July 4th”

She left and he was left to question his entire existence.


End file.
